


Not Just a River In Egypt

by nu_breed



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-19
Updated: 2010-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 16:16:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nu_breed/pseuds/nu_breed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all changes when Sam turns sixteen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Just a River In Egypt

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://blindfold-spn.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://blindfold-spn.livejournal.com/)**blindfold_spn** for the prompt: Dean is shamefully obsessed with Sam and can't stop with the too-long looks and lingering touches on his brother's developing body. Dean's self control erodes bit by bit until one night they're sharing a bed and he can't help making a move. Sam should be no younger than 14, please.

Sam's always been the shortest of the three of them ever since Dean can remember: short and scrawny. He’s always lacked the strength and power that Dean and his father had, and as a result he’s always had to rely on moving faster than whoever it is that he’s fighting. Speed and agility, that’s what Dean’s little brother brings to the table.

It all changes when Sam turns sixteen. Short and scrawny became tall and lean, and all of a sudden, Sam is taller than both Dean and their father. It takes a bit of getting used to, okay, a _lot_ of getting used to. Dean isn’t used to looking at his brother and seeing long legs and muscles. Isn’t used to looking at Sam and seeing the face and body of a man.

It had been easier before. The two of them had always been fixated on each other, probably unhealthily fixated if Dean thought about it too hard, but it had never felt like this. Like Sam was stealing all the air out of the room just by existing and Dean was struggling just to breathe.

He tries not to think about it too hard. If he ignores it, Sam would just be his little brother. His annoying, whiny, too-smart-for-his-own-good little brother. If he lets himself think otherwise? Well, he refuses to. That’s all there is to it.

They spend that summer in Colorado, and it feels like just breathing is enough to make you sweat. That insane, cloying heat that seeps in through your pores and makes you feel like every stitch of clothing is a restriction. Their father’s gone, hunting a siren two towns over, but he’s left Dean strict instructions to make sure Sam’s “last few weeks of uninterrupted training time don’t go to waste.”

Sam’s in a mood of course, he’s never coped well with heat. He sits on the steps leading out to the backyard as Dean pops open a couple of beers with the proviso that “You tell Dad, kid, and I will fucking end you.”

Sam grumbles under his breath that he’s not a fucking kid, and Dean whacks him on the back of the head, before he passes Sam one of the beers.

“Okay, the sooner we get this out of the way the sooner we can kick back with those beers and watch a movie, or something. Come here.”

Sam takes a swig from his beer and puts it down on the steps. He pulls his t-shirt over his head and Dean swallows, trying very hard not to focus on the fact that his brother’s now stripped down to the waist.

Sam is gorgeous, and Dean can’t tear his eyes away. Perfect muscles for his build, wide shoulders tapering down to a tiny waist that Dean wants to get his hands on. Beautiful brown-tipped nipples and those fucking hipbones that he can see over the top of Sam’s jeans, a promise of what‘s hidden underneath the denim.

They wrestle for what feels like minutes, but is probably seconds, and usually Dean would’ve kicked Sam’s ass, but he’s beyond distracted. All it takes is Sam sweeping Dean’s leg and it’s all over. If Dean was able to focus on anything besides the weight of his half-naked brother, _brother, you sick perv_ , he would be thoroughly embarrassed.

Sam’s weight presses into him, smirk plastered on his face, “Wow, that was easy. You lettin’ me win, Dean?”

The fact that Sam is obviously so unaware of what he’s doing makes Dean want to punch him. He glares and grabs Sam by the waist, flipping the two of them over, hoarsely whispering, “Not a chance, kid.”

It’s only then that Dean realizes that this is probably not the best position for him to be in with Sam. Dean is pressing Sam down into the ground, hips flush against his little brother’s and everywhere he looks there’s skin. If he just shifts his hands a little, he’ll be able to feel it. Dean wants to know what Sam feels like. What he tastes like, too. He wonders what Sam would do if Dean just bent down and licked, tasted that bare, sweat-tinged skin.

 

 

“Not.” Sam’s breath is hitched, shallow bursts like he’s struggling to catch it, “not a kid, Dean.”

Dean can feel Sam’s warm breath against his skin. It makes his belly pool with heat, his cock harden in his jeans. He wants Sam, and he has for months. He can’t deny it now, not when his desire’s punching him square in the gut. If he stays lying where he is any longer, Sam’ll known for sure, and Dean can’t let that happen as much as he’s dying to.

“Still a kid to me, bro.” Dean musses Sam’s hair up, an innocent gesture that’s too little, too fucking late. He jumps up and brushes himself off, offering Sam a hand to get to his feet.

Sam stumbles a bit when he gets up, falling against Dean. He’s so close that Dean can smell him: sweat and dirt and the shampoo he’d used to wash his hair that morning. God, he smells so fucking good it makes Dean’s skin itch. He is _fucked_.

After that, he can’t switch it off. They’d always shared each other’s space and it’s not like anything’s changed for Sam, but it sure as hell has for Dean. Sam’d always been a tactile kind of kid, and Dean had encouraged it, but after the sparring incident he finds himself wanting to avoid any situation that encourages his brother to be anywhere near him.

Unfortunately, no-one’s told Sam about this, and it’s driving Dean insane. Sam sits on the sofa, his legs swung over Dean’s as he sucks on a Popsicle, slow and thorough. It’s torture, plain and simple watching Sam lick and suck the thing.

Dean mumbles something incoherent and makes for the bathroom, barely having enough time to lock the door before his hand’s inside his jeans. He jerks off; fast and dirty, to images of Sam on his knees going down on Dean’s cock.

It’s a visual that isn’t at all welcome in Dean’s head, because he can’t unsee it now. It’s forever burned against the back of his eyelids when he comes.

The problem is, as much as he’s a sick fucking bastard for it, he doesn’t want to not see it.

It’s more bearable when their Dad’s around, because when he is, Dean can shut it out. But lately he’s been away more than he’s been with them and while Sam’s in school, he’s usually gone from Wednesday to Sunday.

It continues like this for months; Sam unconsciously tempting him. Sam gets into Dean’s space whenever they eat out, pushed into the booth next to him, his thigh pressing against Dean’s as he ignores his brother’s protests of, “Personal space, Sammy, you know what that is?”

Then there’s the half-naked thing. Recently, Sam’s taken to coming out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel, water droplets beaded on his neck and chest and it takes all of Dean’s self-control not to just tear that towel off and drop to his knees right there.

Dean’s wound so fucking tight he feels like he could snap any second and he’s constantly ending up with fingernail gouges in his palms from holding himself back. He starts going out every night, after all, Sam’s old enough to be on his own, and Dean thinks that perhaps the distraction will help break him of this thing that’s taken hold of him. Maybe it’s just that he hasn’t been laid enough, which is easily fucking fixed.

The girls he screws all look the same. Feminine. It’s refreshing. Big tits and short skirts and make-up so thick he wonders if they have to chisel it off at the end of the night. They moan like porn stars when they come, and they taste like tequila and whiskey and Dean always feels sick afterward, but he doesn’t like to think too hard on that.

The night Sam heads out to some high-school party, Dean stays home. He’d intended on getting blitzed at the bar like usual at first, but when Sam comes out of the bathroom dressed for the party, Dean takes one look at him and heads straight for the bottle of tequila he’s been hiding under the countertop in the kitchen. Sam’s wearing this insanely tight t-shirt and worn jeans, and when he stretches his arms above his head, Dean can see the lines of his abdominals.

After Sam leaves, muttering something like “don’t wait up,” he downs his third shot and tries very hard not to think about what Sam would look like, shirtless, covered in tequila and lime and salt and... fuck.

He makes it through half the bottle before sleep takes him, and when he wakes up, the clock says 3.00am and Sam is asleep next to him. Dean shakes his brother awake and flips on the bedside light.

“Sammy, what the hell?” He rubs his eyes, “there’s a perfectly good bed that’s all yours. What the fuck are you doing in mine, freak?”

“Too far,” Sam says, yawning, “Can’t I just stay here?”

Dean wants to say no. Wants to say that there isn’t enough no in the world for this, but instead he leans over and turns off the light.

“Thanks,” Sam murmurs, face pushed into Dean’s shoulder.

Dean’s wide awake now, the feel of Sam’s warm breath on his bare skin, “How was. How was the party?” His voice is raspy, like he’s smoked too many cigarettes, drunk too much tequila, but he knows full well that isn’t the reason.

“It was okay, kinda lame.” Sam moves, turns over and Dean can feel him there, ass just inches shy of Dean’s cock, and Dean holds himself stock-still, terrified about what’ll happen if Sam shifts back, even an inch.

“You hook up tonight?” Sam whispers, and there’s something dark in his voice, something like need and want and it goes straight to Dean’s dick.

“Nah,” Dean says, “I couldn’t, not when...” Dean stops himself from saying another word, bites his lip. It’s then that he realises that his thumb’s been stroking along the line of Sam’s hipbone, completely unconsciously, and that makes it worse. It’s like he can’t keep his hands off Sam, no matter how hard he tries to.

Sam takes a sharp intake of breath, “Not when... what?” Sam tilts his head back, baring his throat while his hips move in little circles. And that’s it. Dean is fucking _done_.

This isn’t a one-way street anymore, if it ever was, and Dean can feel the pull between them, like a fucking current, and while he can denydenydeny until the end of the world, he doesn’t really know if he wants to anymore.

“Oh fucking Christ, Sam,” Dean grates out, his other hand around Sam’s chest, pulling him back, “What’re you fucking doing to me?”

“Oh fuck. Dean.”

Dean flips Sam onto his back, straddling his hips, “You’re so fucking tempting, you know that? Tried to stop it, but I can’t. Drive me fucking crazy.”

Sam swallows hard, and Dean gets his hands on his brother’s face, holding him there, his mouth so close to Sam’s.

“Need to tell me to stop, Sammy. If you don’t, this is only ending one way. And I shouldn’t, fuck, I really shouldn’t.”

“You really should,” Sam says, “want you to. Please. Always wanted you to.”

“Okay then,” Dean says. He grabs Sam’s hand and pulls it to his cock. “Feel this. This is what you do to me, little brother.” He lets go of Sam’s hand and pulls him up so Sam is sitting, Dean astride him. “Last chance to say no, Sam.”

“Don’t want to,” Sam mutters, “you can do whatever you want. Anything.”

“Fuck,” Dean swears under his breath, his hands on Sam’s face, thumbs stroking his cheekbones, “you shouldn’t say things like that, Sammy. Not to me.”

Dean brushes his lips against Sam’s, whispers, “Open up for me.” Sam parts his lips just slightly and Dean kisses him, tongue pushing in, tasting him slow and thorough. Sam moans and the sound of that drives Dean fucking insane. He grabs Sam by the hair, holding him in place so he can lick and bite and suck, and Sam’s so into it, so fucking eager that Dean can hardly stand it.

“Gonna turn on the light,” Dean manages to get out between kisses, “gotta see you.”

He flicks on the bedside lamp, and his belly rolls over at the sight in front of him. Sam looks completely fucking debauched: hair mussed up, his mouth red and used.

Dean catches sight of something else, too though. Sam has dark marks marring his skin, one on his neck and one on his collarbone.

“What the fuck, Sam?” Dean presses his fingers into the bruises, “who gave these to you?”

“Was at the party,” Sam says, panting for breath, “some guy, friend of Tina’s.”

Dean feels his cheeks flush with heat, the thought of anyone but him touching Sam feels so foreign to him, so wrong. He’s really fucking angry, jealousy twisting him into knots and he pushes Sam back on the pillows, pinning his wrists above his head.

“What’d you let him do to you, Sam?” Dean asks, sucking hard on the bruise on Sam’s neck, wanting to cover this random kid’s mark with his own, “tell me.”

“I. God, Dean,” Sam is moving as much as he can under Dean, bucking and writhing in Dean’s grasp. Dean feels high on it, it’s like a rush through him, knowing that Sam is here and his.

“Come on, Sam,” Dean tightens his grip on Sam’s wrists, “what’d he do to you?”

“He. He kissed me,” Sam half-whispers, “made those marks. That’s it.”

“Are you sure?” Dean scrapes his teeth along Sam’s collarbone, fastens on the bruise and sucks. “Didn’t let him touch you?”

“I was saving that,” Sam groans, “for you.”

“Jesus Christ, Sammy.” Dean flips the two of them over, so Sam’s above him. “Been thinking about that for far too long.”

Sam grabs Dean’s hand and guides it to his mouth, licks the top of Dean’s fingers before sucking them in; slow and wet. He closes his eyes as he moves them in and out, between his lips, moaning like he’s dying for it. Dean could never have imagined it would feel like this, and he dreads to think what it’s going to be like when Sam gets his mouth on Dean’s cock.

“God, Sam.” He groans, “want it so bad, don’t you? Wanna suck me?”

“Mmmm,” Sam hums around Dean’s fingers, and the look of complete satisfaction on his brother’s face is like an electric shock to Dean’s groin.

“Can’t stand the idea of someone else touching you, Sammy, want you all to myself.” So fucking selfish and so fucked up, but he can’t help it. There’s always been something unhealthy about their relationship, even before, but now. Dean doesn’t want to share his brother with _anyone_.

Dean thumbs his jeans open and pulls his boxers down enough to get his dick out. He barely has time to react before Sam’s mouth is on him, tongue swiping across the head and licking up the entire length of his dick. He closes his eyes, his hands going to the back of Sam’s head, not forcing him, just resting there and Sam opens his mouth, taking Dean into his mouth.

It’s not the best blowjob Dean’s ever had, it’s wet and messy, but it doesn’t matter. It’s _Sam_ and his mouth feels fucking divine. Dean opens his eyes and watches, and that’s maybe the best part. Sam looks so good sucking Dean, like he can’t get enough. Dean can feel his orgasm about to hit him and it’s too soon. Not fucking yet.

“Sammy,” Dean grabs a handful of Sam’s hair and coaxes his brother to stop. He pushes Sam back, so he’s sitting on his heels and Dean pulls him up to a kneel, fingers in Sam’s belt loops. Dean feels fucking desperate, like he can’t get his hands on Sam fast enough and he unbuttons Sam’s jeans with shaking hands, pulling them down over those impossibly slim hips along with his boxers.

“Need to see all of you,” Dean scrapes his teeth down Sam’s throat, smiling as his brother hisses and squirms, “Take off your shirt.”

Sam pulls his t-shirt over his head, peels it off slow and deliberate, and Dean can’t help laughing at that, little shit knows exactly what the hell he’s doing.

“Always knew you’d be a tease, Sammy,” Dean says, dragging his finger lightly up and down the length of Sam’s cock.

“Takes. Fuck.” Sam thrusts his hips forward, trying to gain more friction, “one to know one, asshole.”

“Gonna take my time with you, I think,” Dean sits up enough to take his own shirt off, rubbing a thumb over Sam’s nipple, beaming when Sam hisses and bites his lip. Dean wants to make his brother as crazy as Sam makes him by just existing.

“I wanna see you fall apart for me, Sammy,” Dean says, wrapping his hand around Sam’s cock. Such a gorgeous cock, so hard and perfect in his grip and he gets to his knees and whispers, “Fuck my hand. Slow.”

Sam opens his eyes, so dark and needy and it kills Dean to watch, but he can’t tear his eyes away, either.

“You ever do this when you’re alone Sam? Touch yourself and think of me?”

“Yes,” Sam hisses as he drives his hips forward and back, cock pushing through Dean’s fist, “all the time. Thinking about you. Just grabbing me and doing what you want to me. Touching me all over. Fucking me.”

“Jesus Christ, Sammy,” Dean kisses him hard and fast, sucking on Sam’s tongue, “Do you have any idea what you’re doing? Any fucking idea at all?”

Dean’s thought about it a million fucking times. Every time he’s seen Sam on his belly, ass in the air, sweatpants stretched across it like a goddamn invitation for Dean to... Every single person he’s fucked in the last few months, they’ve all just been substitutes.

“Will you, Dean?” Sam says, breath hitching, his hips grinding back and forth, and Dean could watch his brother like this for hours. Sam’s biting his lip now, breathing hard and it’s incredible to watch.

“You’re so fucking close, aren’t you?” Dean bites Sam’s cheek gently, “come for me, Sam, and then we can. Yeah, whatever you want.”

Dean knows he’ll do it. He could never say no to Sam, even if he wanted to, and what does it say about him that he doesn’t? Sam speeds up, his thrusts getting more frantic, more erratic and Dean pulls back and watches him. The look on his face is so completely wanton and uninhibited, eyes closed, head thrown back and teeth digging harder into his bottom lip.

Dean never could’ve imagined that Sam would be like this. He comes hard, panting and groaning and messy, spattering white on the both of them, and Dean thinks that he will never, ever forget his brother falling apart in front of his eyes as long as he lives.

“God, Sam,” Dean trails a finger through the mess on his chest and slides it into Sam’s mouth, “You have no idea what you look like. So fucking hot.”

Sam lies down, kicking his jeans and boxers all the way off. Dean closes his eyes and inhales deep, “You realise that me doing this to you officially makes me the worst brother that ever lived?”

“I dunno,” Sam looks like he’s contemplating, “there must be someone with a worse brother in the course of history. Maybe Cain?”

“Nobody likes a smartass, Sammy.”

“Coming from the world’s biggest smartass, that’s bound to be a compliment.”

“Screw you, little brother,” Dean says, pulling his jeans and boxers down and kicking them across the room.

“That’s the idea,” Sam pulls Dean in, with a hand around his neck; “you think maybe we could get to that?”

“I think,” Dean licks a line from Sam’s throat down to his belly button, “you’re a pushy little bitch and you need to shut the fuck up and let me drive.” He reaches over and pulls a condom and lube from the top drawer next to the bed. Sam looks away for a minute and takes a deep breath.

“You done this before?” He asks, and he sounds so fucking young that it makes Dean’s chest ache.

“A bit.” Dean leans down and brushes his lips against Sam’s, “it’s different though, Sammy. Didn’t mean what this means.” He pauses, “You still sure about this?”

“Yeah,” Sam says, nodding, “And I get it. Dean, I.”

“Yeah, Sam,” Dean whispers, “I know.” He kisses him, an almost chaste brush of lips against Sam’s as he squeezes lube into his own hand. He coats his fingers with it, not looking away from his brother, even for a second.

Dean fucks Sam gently, slowly, with his fingers. Too slow and gentle if Sam’s muttered, “Not made of fucking glass, Dean,” is any indication. He laughs and pulls his fingers all the way out before pushing in, deep. Sam writhes on the bed, spreading his legs even wider, and Dean knows he’s ready, more than ready for this.

He rolls the condom on and gets Sam’s legs up and out. Dean slides in slow and careful, and part of his brain keeps telling him it’s wrong, the part that Dean isn’t listening to, because it’s too late for that now.

When he looks at Sam, it doesn’t feel the slightest bit wrong.

His brother has his eyes shut and he’s biting his lip, and Dean stops halfway, wanting to make sure Sam’s okay before he pushes him any harder, but Sam’s eyes flick open and he grates out, “if you even think about stopping Dean, I’ll kill you.”

“Little asshole,” Dean says, laughing, and pushes the rest of the way in. Sam is so tight, so goddamn tight, and it feels fucking amazing being surrounded by all that heat. He pulls out again, inch by inch, and it’s taking every bit of self control he has not to fuck his brother hard and deep and own him like he wants to, but there’s plenty of time for that.

“Harder,” Sam groans as if he’s reading Dean’s mind, and that’s all the invitation Dean needs to escalate things. He pushes in, all the way, deeper this time and Sam’s halfway hard again, his own hand wrapped around his cock, whimpering, “Please.”

Dean doesn’t think he’ll ever get over hearing Sam beg. “God,” he sighs, “you’re fucking unbelievable, Sammy.”

Sam whimpers, and Dean can tell he’s close. He’s jerking himself fast and hard and making the most amazing sounds, other hand twisting in the sheets and Dean’s nearly there too; the tight fucking heat of Sam’s ass as he drives his cock in and out and in again.

When Sam comes, he moans loud and guttural, and Dean’s really fucking thankful that their nearest neighbours are away for the weekend, because they would’ve had a free fucking porno audio right there, if they’d been home. Dean can feel Sam clench and it makes the friction so much sweeter, so fucking tight it’s insane and Dean can’t hold back, he thrusts in one more time and comes, pulsing and groaning and all he can think about is how he wants to do this today and every day, screw everything else.

He pulls out and presses his forehead to Sam’s, sweat and come slicking their skin between them. Dean presses a quick kiss to Sam’s neck and rolls off, knotting the condom and throwing it in the trash. He’ll get rid of it in the morning; their Dad isn’t due back until Sunday night.

“So, uh,” Sam stammers, “is this going to be weird?”

“You’re already weird,” Dean says, heading for the shower, “so I can’t see as anything’ll be different.”

Sam flips him off.

“You coming with, jerk? Don’t want you being all sticky and gross on my damn bed.”

Sam scowls and mumbles something under his breath that Dean can’t catch, but when Dean turns the shower on minutes later and steps under the spray, Sam is right behind him.

 

 

end


End file.
